


like peaches and cream

by ficfucker



Series: saddle soarin': a rabbit lightning collection [3]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 03:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: what? lohn's not supposed to give redd a handjob in a changing room?





	like peaches and cream

“Look sharp in that,” Redd comments. 

Lohn twirls around on his heel, grins his crooked grin at Redd, and pulls at the body of the jacket with both hands, looks down at it. “Reckon? We ain’t hardly ever switch things ‘round no more, I dun even know whut I like these days.” He turns back to the full length mirror and squints at himself in the jacket, a floral like his other, but deep red, patterned with the fat heads of corn yellow sunflowers. Lohn likes the buttons a lot, too, shiny gold studs going up the front, which he knows will never be fastened. 

“Seems like we both got our - whatchya callems.” Redd twirls a finger around in the air, trying to think of the right word, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

He’s been sitting in the black faux leather chair he’s in for probably a half hour now, watching with interest as Lohn picks out different shirts and jackets, tries each one on, peacocks in front of the mirror. It was Redd’s idea to go get new boots, hats, maybe a couple shirts and whatnot, a pair of jeans for the road, and Lohn is all for it. They’d spend well over an hour in footwear, Lohn putting on and shucking off boots like they were ears of corn in a barrel and he had to get at them all, Lohn strutting around with two different boots on and laughing like a hyena when the shoe department boy tried to (calmly) talk to him about the store’s “Scuff It, Buy It” policy. 

“Think of it yet?” 

“Uh. Aesthetics, I suppose. Both got our  _ aesthetics _ .” He says it with the inflection of a college professor, but the drawl remains the same, and Lohn chuckles. Redd waves a hand and Lohn sees the gesture from behind him in the mirror, and Lohn traces his movements with his eyes, amused. “You wit’ yer flowers an’ v-neck shirts. I got my tassels, the occasional bandana.” 

“Get a floral print bandana. Could match then.” 

Redd smiles and Lohn puts the jacket back on a clothes hanger, drapes it over their shopping cart, and slips on his original. “Stickin’ wit’ that one?” Redd asks, jutting his chin out to gesture towards it. 

Lohn smirks, lopsided, and nods. “That wit’ a white shirt?” Lohn whistles, steps over to Redd, looks down at him, his blue eyes excited. “Gunna give you a run for yer money, boy.” 

Redd tilts his head up and Lohn gets the idea because he leans down and they kiss. “Ya always look good, Lohn,” he says softly. They both smile and Lohn presses another kiss to Redd’s lips before standing straight again, putting his hands to his hips. 

“Look even better by yer side, dontchya think?” Lohn darts his tongue out for a split second, a weird, flirtatious gesture, and he swaggers back over to the carriage, folds his arms, and presses his chest up to the push handle.

Redd stands, his stomach warm, and nods his agreement, says, “Like peaches an’ cream, we are.” He pats Lohn on the rear as they start walking and adds, “Let’s look at jeans ‘fore we go.”

Lohn agrees and steers the cart in the direction of wall of pants near the rear of the story, decorated with fancy riding jodhpurs and leather chaps, tassel bottoms to rodeo outfits, straight leg Wranglers in a gradient of bleached blue to dark-near-black navy. He must be happy over their choices today, the rare occasion that they go out together and actually shop for something nice rather than “road clothes” they grab at Walmarts during tours, because Lohn keeps nudging Redd with his elbow, bumping into him with a goofy grin, playing whole-body footsie. 

“You go on, Moonshine, I don’t need nothin’ more than what we got,” Lohn says. 

Redd pulls a face, looks back at Lohn as he starts pawing through the folded jeans looking for his size. “You sure, Lohn? We probably ain’t gonna get another chance to-”

“Jus’ go on, Redd,” Lohn says, waving him off. 

With a shrug, Redd goes about his business and searches for a pair that’ll fit. He can feel Lohn’s eyes on him and it makes the warmth in his stomach flare and spread. Lohn’s not shy or quiet in any terms, let alone with when he’s feeling frisky. Hell, he said that whole “If I ride you…” line on Rhett and Link’s show and thought nothing of it, cracked a laugh and winked at the camera, so putting Redd under his gaze is tame, comparatively. 

Paired with the foreign, public domesticity of clothes shopping together, Redd is starting to get keyed up real fast. 

He holds up some blue jeans to Lohn, asks, “Gunna come with me to try these on?”, and Lohn nods, his smirk spreading out like butter melting, and Redd’s glasses practically fog over. Redd’s had dozens of gals look at him that same way, hungry and dark, but there’s something so different in Lohn’s stare: loving yet precise, like he’s going to take Redd apart and plans to be methodical about it. 

They make the short walk to the changing rooms, a private little hall with several doors leading to small white rooms, and Redd glances over his shoulder once at Lohn before going in. He knows the jeans will fit. He’s been the same size for 20 years now, but it’s all part of the game. There’s something in the air between him and Lohn now and thinking about it, he stumbles stepping out of his jeans, kicking over his boots. 

“Alright in there, bo?” Lohn drawls, leaning on the door. No one else is around, all the other stalls unoccupied, and Lohn can only see one person browsing the nearby aisles from where he is. For being in public, they’re pretty secluded right now, sectioned off by some half-walls and the turn you have to make to actually be in the changing room area. 

Redd grunts in response. The tenting in his boxers makes pulling on a pair of store-tight jeans a lot less appealing than it had been that morning when he’d suggested it, but he manages. He looks in the mirror, turns from side to side. The bulge is obvious, but aside from that, the jeans look good. 

“Got ‘em on?” 

“Yeah-huh.” 

“Well, lemme see ‘em on ya.” 

Redd goes to open the door, clicking the lock open, but Lohn’s got his body pushed up on it and the door doesn’t budge open. “Hey, now, Lohn, you gotta-” 

Hushed, Lohn cuts in with, “Step back, Red, lemme-”

“Lohn?” 

So Redd takes a baby step back, letting Lohn arm the door open just enough for him to wiggle into the small stall with Redd, pressed up chest to chest, and Redd blushes, looking down at his partner from behind orange lenses. “Lohn, yer gunna get us kicked out an’ we already got enough of those ‘Lifetime Bans’ in places ‘roun-”

“Hush up, Redd. Ain’t nobody ‘round, an’ nobody hafta know anyhow,” Lohn whispers. He squirms back so he can take a look at Redd in his new jeans, and he smiles approvingly, eyes raking Redd’s lanky body up and down. “Well. Look good.” 

Redd licks his lips, nods. “Mhm.” 

Lohn smiles, his features suddenly gentle, and he splays a palm flat to Redd’s chest, looking like one of the women in the embrace of a chiseled man on the covers of Lohn’s terrible romance novels he keeps in the bathroom. “I mean it, Redd, sayin’ you look good.” 

Redd blushes harder, his heart thrumming in his chest like a chant, and he presses his hips into Lohn, a declaration, and Lohn laughs, amused, and returns the gesture. “Bein’ sweet on me ‘cuz you know I’m payin’?” Redd teases before he tips his mouth down for a kiss, Lohn standing on his toes in his boots, lips parted, and Lohn chitters a giggle into his mouth. 

“Bein’ sweet on ya ‘cuz yer sweet on me, Rabbit,” Lohn murmurs. His hands snake down Redd’s front, brush him up and down twice before cupping between Redd’s legs, palming him through the thick denim, and Redd buckles forward with a surprised puff of breath, a palm going to the wall above Lohn’s head to steady himself. 

“Whut’s got ya so excited? Watchin’ me try on boots suddenly do sumthin’ for ya, Redd?” Lohn’s tone is teasing, smug, his eyes focused on Redd’s expression with great alertness. He wants Redd to say it. 

Redd throbs in Lohn’s unmoving hand. “Ain’t that,” he huffs. “Know yer -  _ mine.  _ An’ you been lookin’ at me that  _ way _ you do.” 

Lohn kisses his throat, squeezes him unforgivingly, and says, voice honeyed, “Yes’an?”

Redd quivers down to his thighs, keeps himself steeled in place, not daring to move his hips a centimeter. Lohn will give him hell if he so much as ruts once without permission, he knows it from experience, and with the way his hair is falling over his shoulders in long golden tresses, Lohn could easily twirl one into his palm and yank. 

“An’ yer handsome as the devil, Lohn, an’-an’ thinkin’ bout yer hands on me near burns me up from the inside,” Redd sputters out, trying to keep his voice low and even. 

That must be enough for him because Lohn slides his hand up, slips it into the waistband of unzipped jeans, and gives Redd a long, slow stroke, his eyes fluttering into his skull at the contact. “I know,” Lohn whispers, his wrist moving lackadaisical. 

“We gotta - Lohn, we can’t be in - Gotta hurry up or we -,” Redd stammers, Lohn gripping him every time Redd tries to get reason out, so instead, he bites his tongue and screws his eyes shut, giving himself over to Lohn, who chuckles. 

“Go easier if yer quiet,” Lohn murmurs. 

Redd swallows and nods, his veins hot, his ears burning with heat. He wants Lohn naked. He wants Lohn all over him. 

Lohn holds him down to his shaft, his cockhead peeking out from the edge of the waistband of his boxers, strokes him with more speed and interest, his own erection pressed to his thigh. Redd shudders and gasps, snaps his eyes open and kisses desperately at Lohn’s neck, plants his lips a half inch off from where his lips are, kisses his chin, and Lohn giggles, knows what this means. 

“Well, Redd,” Lohn says, voice suddenly above a whisper, though just a shade so, “guess those jeans’ll work on ya.” He adjusts Redd awkwardly in his underwear, pulls his hand away, licks away the little pearls of precum on his fingers. 

Redd groans, the noise kicked out of him, and he scowls, fakely, at Lohn, who’s grinning as bright as ever. “Lohn, please-”

“Don’t wanna dirty yer new jeans,” Lohn says, leaning up on his toes to kiss Redd on the nose. He shuffles back and just like that, slips out the door, closing it behind him, so Redd is alone, hot and bothered in a claustrophobic changing room. 

“Lord above,” he hisses, and he shucks off the jeans, starts to dance back into his own pair. He’d probably be out of his mind if it weren’t Lohn doing this to him. Redd lets Lohn do just about anything, string him out and deny him and Redd allows it, enjoys it, truthfully, the embarrassment and sneaky moments in public and frustration. 

Lohn is smirking when Redd opens the door and before Redd can open his mouth to say anything, Lohn comments, “Ya look like you jus’ got a handy in a changing room, Moonshine.” It’s probably true: curls of sweat-stuck hair clinging to the sides of his face, his cheeks red, his jeans tenting. 

Redd’s going to be the first man to die from blue balls. He tosses the jeans in the cart and scoots Lohn out of the way to push it himself. “Shuddup, Lohn, let’s jus’ go check out an’ head back to the trailer.” 

“Eager to be home all o’ sudden?” Lohn giggles, following. 

“You got  _ no _ idea.” 

“Oh, Redd, I reckon I do.” 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Redd can’t hold himself together. Being worked up and left dry has him wound tight and feeling weirdly energetic, like he’s caffeinated, and as soon as Lohn puts the truck in park, Redd is shuffling over the bench seat and pushing Lohn up against the door, their bags getting brushed off onto the floor. 

“Whoa there,” Lohn laughs before he’s being kissed and he loosens under Redd, his shoulders lowering, his hands going to the small of Redd’s back. 

“Gunna eatchu up,” Redd drawls. His hands make quick work, popping the two fastened buttons of Lohn’s dark blue under shirt, peeling off his jacket. He kisses Lohn’s chest, kisses down to his stomach, and starts to undo Lohn’s jeans before he’s stopped. 

“Whut-”

“You first,” Lohn says, reaching out and unzipping Redd’s fly. 

Who’s Redd to argue? He lets Lohn undress him, and hes about to ask why Lohn’s taking off his underwear and jeans both when Lohn sits up, pushes him back enough that he can undress himself too. “Git o’er here,” Lohn invites, and Redd’s cock stiffens realizing what the offer is. 

Redd lays himself back on the leather seat, pulls his legs up so his arms are tucked under his knees, and presenting like this, despite all their times together, still gets him to look away, his teeth in his bottom lip. Lohn kneels on the bench, his jeans down around his ankles, his boots still on, shuffles over to Redd, pokes his cock between Redd’s thighs, and it’s warm and slick, wet from a drop of spit Lohn’s drawn over it. 

“A’right?” Lohn asks, giving Redd’s right thigh a reassuring squeeze, and when Redd nods, makes eye contact, Lohn begins to thrust. Lohn wraps a hand around Redd’s cock, strokes him fast and sloppy, and Redd grunts, raises his hips to meet Lohn’s touch. 

“Golly, Lohn,” Redd pants. He wishes he could lean up and kiss him. 

“Couldn’t even wait to git inside, could you?” 

Lohn twists his wrist in a particular way and Redds lower stomach tightens, his neck craned back so it sticks to the leather, peels away like a post-it note. “Couldn’t even wait to git outta the dang store,” Redd retorts. His thighs tremble and embarrassment washes over him all over again, anxious that he’s going to come much too soon and ruin the moment. 

“S’a’right,” Lohn murmurs, his eyes soft and sympathetic, looking down at Redd with understanding. It makes something squirm up inside Redd and he almost loses it right there, his cock leaping in Lohn’s palm, his expression loving and pained. 

“Killin’ me,” Redd whispers. 

Lohn kisses Redd’s knee, because he can, and because it’s one of the only places he can reach. He snaps his hips forward harsher than before, jerking Redd’s body beneath him, his cockhead popping out from between Redd’s thighs, drooling precum down his legs in sloppy, translucent lines. 

Redd comes first, as expected, spurting ropes over his thighs, the bottom of his shirt, and he whimpers Lohn’s name, clenches his body tight as the seal of a clam’s shell, panting, his vision nearly going white with his release. Lohn watches him through it, his face curling up with pleasure at the feeling of Redd’s bodily tautness, and Lohn comes, too, a moment after Redd, coming over Redd’s stomach and chest, his black shirt speckled by the both of them. 

“Oh, Moonshine,” Lohn murmurs, dreamily. He presses up on him, chest to Redd’s knees, kisses Redd’s knee again, a little peck. 

Redd feels boneless other than the slight cramping of his legs, the soreness setting in from being held up like they’ve been, and he spreads his legs, lets Lohn crawl up over him and kiss his chin, nestle down on him. “Dat’s gross,” Redd mumbles, his mouth quirking into the smallest smile known to man. “Got our mess ‘tween us an’ now yer-”

“Hush up, Redd, or I ain’t gunna let you do me in that new fancy red jacket ya got me,” Lohn mumbles. Midday sun casts in through the truck windows, covering them in a soft yellow tint, the sky a shocking blue with the suggestion of clouds here and there; their bodies warm but not burning pressed together, Lohn’s fingers carding through Redd’s hair over and over. 

Redd hushes up. He enjoys the moment. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you're reading this, thanks for tolerating all my rabbit lightning spam (here and on tmblr)
> 
> don't forget to kudos + comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


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